I REMEMBER – VISUAL VERSE

You can imagine my surprise when I found out in February that Visual Verse published my story in November without me knowing it. I know I read the whole issue. Maybe it was added additionally or lost and found. Either way, it’s there now.

Btw, I thought the photo prompt was unusual to say the least and rather hard to put into words so my first reaction was to pass. However, I couldn’t get it out of my head, and eventually went back. I’m happy I did. The motto of the story – Giving up is not an option.

You can read my contribution to the November 2018 issue of Visual Verse here.

MY POEMS IN DOWN IN THE DIRT

I’m super excited to have four of my earlier poems in Down in the Dirt, an excellent lit journal, also publishing previously published works.

Interestingly, I was first notified they’d accepted two, but then I sent a follow up letter with two additional poems saying although I know they don’t want the rhyme in their magazine, I’ll take my chances, knowing that the one that rhymes here and there is a good one, and assuring them that when I use it, though rarely, I do it for a good reason, never for the sake of the rhyme itself.

So, persistence pays off.

You can read my poems here, here, here and here.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

Change out of your ill-intentioned criticism
like you change out of wet clothes
Dispose of quasi-intellectual swordplay
imagine it’s hazardous waste you dump in someone else’s seas
if it’s gonna make it easier
Get rid of your flamboyant confidence, and
highly combustible speeches
like you’d get rid of lonesome socks and expired meds
forget them like promises and mom’s chocolate cake recipes
you’ll never keep
Stop hurling armies against armies
Do away with your racism and xenophobia
your country continues to be built on the backs of immigrants
Don’t kill hope, let
Lady Liberty do her job
Throw away your harmful kicks, and godlike omnipotence
like yesterday’s papers
like useless wire hangers for shirts you never liked
like worn out shoes however much you like them
Toss your bomb threats
like you’d toss old VHS tapes and business cards into the trash
don’t you know you’re disposable too
your expiration date is blinking No longer safe to consume
Throw them out like broken toys
while you still can
your children have children
Miss a chance to make a fortune
Let others pursue happiness for a change


 

via TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN ~ BOJANA STOJCIC — MORALITY PARK

THE HOUSE I LIVE IN

my desk is crammed with extinct languages
without living descendants in sight
my ceiling heavy with gruesome attacks by serial killers
survived against all odds
my garbage can is a handful of banalities
my plate full of wars fought in vain
my fridge fraught with tears torn on the barbed wire
carefully stored and deep frozen for future use

my lamp shows me life in the spotlight
though it hates being left alone with my thoughts of tomorrow
swallowed by the sun
my coffee cup gives me a sardonic smile every time I tell it
I want him to love me in person, not in the abstract
my doors scream false pride and irregular accomplishments
my baggage begs me to reconsider
my mouse my only ally, deleting geography

my floor is a liquid mixture of
visceral bleeding and spilled brains
my mirrors aching mourners at the funeral
(blessed are not those who mourn)
the insistent audience demanding
encore after encore
after…
(sorry to disappoint you. I didn’t stay to the end of the movie)

my state of being is
a series of running and passing plays
my state of mind elsewhere
my head, a concert with fireworks timed
to the music of untuned percussion instruments
an extended clattering of pans and cutlery in the kitchen
my happiness beyond compare –
the medieval conception of justice


 

via THE HOUSE I LIVE IN ~ BOJANA STOJCIC — MORALITY PARK

WOMEN OF THE SEA

Every year films take place on the French Riviera
Hookers stroll in and out of the big hotels
Lo sceicco bianco
jerks off in the shower
picturing putes de luxes, well-dressed and well-mannered bombshells
for Arabs in white when the Sun goes out.
Smiling contentedly
groping, growing, probing, rolling, exploding into
girls who keep their mouths shut and
legs open.

It’s been going on for 60 years, movies
under the glare of the spotlights and
sex in the world with
polarized sunglasses, protection against prying eyes
denying the redundant stare
hand in hand in Cannes. Yacht girls on the alluring Cote d’Azur
a balmy playground of the rich and famous.
Sun-soaked sophistication.
The chain clanks as the anchor falls through the water
cars pull into the bay to unload fresh meat
classy mesdemoiselles like ships make headway against the gale
a gateway to success.
Professional prostitutes, B- and C-list Hollywood actresses, beauty
queens and whimsical models dreaming
of a world at peace when needed
kept close at hand, nude and half nude,
always in the mood despite
remarks made in bad taste.
Combination boilers providing hot water on demand.

Winemakers babble about the wine production. The murmur of the waves.
Grape selection, cultivation, pressing, aging, bottling, tasting
wine and girls with perky breasts who
smile at men willing to spend a fortune to relish
the bubbly taste of diamonds,
Armand de Brignac and Dom Pérignon
Prisoners finally taste freedom. A sparkling taste of
attainability.

Orphaned children.
Street children sleeping rough.
Malnourished mothers giving birth to underweight babies on TV.
Scraggy children choke themselves awake on flies
swarming inside their mouths. Squawking birds fly low.
Switch it off, the craggy voice is heard
his words slurred
tucking into lobster stew
harbored in the big blue.

White Pearl Caviar, white truffles,
white moose cheese made in limited quantities for
men in white.
The fish bite every day. Good fortune.

A fragrant pine-clad coastline at sundown
dreaming in colors.
A recurrent dream about falling from great heights.
A wife dreams of going back to school.
A single mom of a two-year old dreams of going to America
daycare and neckwear at the back of her mind.
A girl leans against the headboard
fantasizing about a life outside of rent hotel rooms.
A dream vacation, a dream car, a dream house in the country
A dream hub and a couple of rugrats
A golden retriever in the basket
A recurring dream about happily ever after.

A gift for elderly men’s eyes they were
the most beautiful mermaids with a rare talent for
grinning, loving and
making good use of their talents.
Nature gifted them with a fine body
and a strong stomach, so they thought,
a little piece of heaven bought and
brought sealed in an envelope
their aching legs gave way, and they almost fell.
50 grand worth happiness.


 

via WOMEN OF THE SEA ~ BOJANA STOJCIC — MORALITY PARK